


i’d suffer through hell if you’d tell me

by sapphfics



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers Samurai
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 21:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20032936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphfics/pseuds/sapphfics
Summary: It takes about three seconds of watching Emily shaking and huddled in her sister’s hand-me-down cardigan before the attendant finally calls for volunteers. Lauren knows this because she counts the seconds in her head, just as she counted the amount of time between when her mother last took a breath. She doesn’t give herself time to think about what she’s doing, or consider what consequences this will bring. She puts her hand up as though she were in school, stepping out from amongst the crowd of eighteen year old girls as she has seen what seems like a hundred girls in District Two do before her and says “I volunteer.”Or: Lauren Shiba enters the arena, and never quite comes out.





	i’d suffer through hell if you’d tell me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aletterinthenameofsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aletterinthenameofsanity/gifts).
  * Inspired by [all of your love is sunlight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943731) by [aletterinthenameofsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aletterinthenameofsanity/pseuds/aletterinthenameofsanity). 

_Don’t try to make poetry out of the blood on your hands. _

— Alice isn’t Dead 

* * *

Until her seventh Reaping, the only people aware of Lauren Shiba’s existence are Mentor Ji, her brother, and those nameless, faceless, Peacekeepers who mark her in attendance at the square and pay her no mind beyond it.

They call Emily’s name and Serena screams.

It takes about three seconds of watching Emily shaking and huddled in her sister’s hand-me-down cardigan before the attendant finally calls for volunteers. Lauren knows this because she counts the seconds in her head, just as she counted the amount of time between when her mother last took a breath. She doesn’t give herself time to think about what she’s doing, or consider what consequences this will bring. She puts her hand up as though she were in school, stepping out from amongst the crowd of eighteen year old girls as she has seen what seems like a hundred girls in District Two do before her and says “I volunteer.”

Mentor Ji only sighs.

(The Capitol do not know this, but Lauren has been training in secret since the night her father was murdered. Technically, it’s illegal, but a Victor’s daughter can bend the rules if it will mean entertainment for the rich masses. One day, when she was supposed to be training, she saw Serena playing her flute and something magical had possessed her as she danced along to the music, and it was the only time she ever felt like a normal girl: feral and wild and free. The bruises she received for not obeying orders mattered nothing. Lauren is certain Serena never even noticed her, but the memory hangs around her neck like a noose.)

This is a story Lauren tells herself. She doesn’t like to remember her games, but she knows how to tell a compelling story, how to put on a good show, make the audience want her to win. She detaches herself from reality. If this is all just a story, with a beginning and an end, maybe she can make sense of it. Of all of it.

She has to do this. Serena is ill, and Emily would not survive a day in the arena. Or so she thinks.

Lauren takes her place on the stage and regards Emily as she retreats back into her dying sister’s arms, and does not regret her decision. A sick part of her wants to smile. There is nothing left here for her, just as there was nothing of her father left to bury.

They buried his weapon in a coffin and called his death peaceful. She remembers that his victory brought them so much food that he stock-piled enough so that they survived the winter that her mother did not.

She thinks that the people in the Capitol want her to cry the way Emily is, but she doesn’t. She’s not weak. She won’t allow herself to be. She feels as though everything she has ever done has been leading up to this moment, that going into the arena is her destiny.

“Who are you, dear?” The attendant asks.

Lauren stiffens, stands as straight as the plyboards that hold up the television screens. “I’m Lauren Shiba.”

“Lauren _Shiba_?” The attendant says. “Well, you are your father’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Lauren just nods, and smiles at her.

Lauren knows too much about her father. She knows that her father didn’t volunteer, he was reaped and decapitated a twelve-year-old to win his games. The twelve-year-old’s name was Cody, and everyone in the Capitol was glad her father killed him, because the boy couldn’t speak english and where was the fun in that? No one volunteered for him because this is District Two and to win glory for your district in the games is an honour, a privilege, a birthright. In lieu of pointing any of this out, Lauren bites her tongue.

She is glad the boys were chosen first this year, so Jayden is spared from this. The Capitol must be laughing, and if she wins she knows that she will have sealed his fate as surely as her’s was sealed the moment her mother birthed a living child, but she tries not to dwell on this.

Besides, who knows if she’ll even win?

Deker is the same age as her, a rarity in most Reapings. She knows he was planning on getting married soon, but their house burned to the ground. His fiance did not survive. She would pity him if she didn’t have to kill him soon.

She shakes Deker’s hand, but he only scowls at her.

Lauren boards the train with little resistance after she says goodbye to her brother — she will not tell this part of the story, this is the one thing she will not allow the public to consume — and stands by one of the largest windows. She wants to take one last look at District Two, at Panorama City, before the doors slam shut in front of her. Will anyone bet on her? Will anyone notice she’s gone, except Jayden? Will he have anyone to look out for him if she dies?

_Of course,_ she reminds herself, _he will._ He has Kevin and Mike. He has friends. No one wants her here, anyway, they never did. As Mike never stops reminding her, she isn’t Jayden. She will never be Jayden.

If she dies in that arena, only Jayden will mourn her. She briefly fantasises about Serena attending the funeral if she can make it out of her bed long enough.  
But if she wins, maybe she can get some fancy Capitol doctor to diagnose and treat Serena’s illness properly.

It strikes her then, that she might never see Serena again. She will never get the chance to actually introduce herself. The Peacekeepers hadn’t let Serena say goodbye - or say thank you, perhaps, for saving Emily - lest whatever illness that had overcome her infect Lauren. The Peacekeepers blame this illness on Serena, claim that she was meant to be a Power Ranger, that her illness is the manifestation of whatever is left of the Morphin Grid taking vengeance on those who had it destroyed.

Of course, there are no Power Rangers anymore. The Capitol saw to that. But Lauren can feel some of that same power lingering in her blood, singing to her. Once, enraged, she had used her finger to trace a strange symbol in the air and had set her bully on fire.

Her mentor from that time had told her it was a letter from a dead language, one that the Capitol had eradicated, and that she must never use this power again or else he would smash her fingers with a hammer.

But he isn’t here. He died years ago.

As District Two speeds away behind them and becomes little more than a blur, Lauren tightens her ponytail and takes a seat.

-:-

She meets Mia at the opening ceremonies, when Mia passes her a cookie she baked herself. She tells the tributes they’re for good luck.

Deker is pointedly ignoring her, and smashes the cookie beneath his boots. Mia decides to ignore him too, resting her elbows on Lauren’s side of the chariot.

“I get how you must feel,” Mia says. “I have a little brother too, and I’d worry about him getting Reaped, but I’m pretty sure the Capitol took one look at his leather jacket and decided they wanted someone less...risqué.”

Lauren bites down on the cookie happily, not caring if she gets crumbs on her bright red gown that makes her resemble a stop sign from the Dark Days. Not that she would say this aloud, obviously. “This is delicious! You’re Mia, right? I’m Lauren Shiba.”

“I know,” Mia says, and Lauren swears she winks at her, and if Lauren weren’t so concerned with being shipped off to die she might wonder if Mia was being flirtatious. “My talent is cooking, but no one’s ever liked my cooking before. You sure you’re not just sucking up to me, right?”

Lauren knows she’s joking, but her head is in the gutter and she just hopes she isn’t blushing. “I’ve eaten the same food all my life. Your cooking is a welcome change.”  
“I hope to see more of you before you go,” Mia says, as the chariot pulls them away. Lauren swears she can see Mia reaching for Lauren’s hand, their fingers barely brushing.

-:-

The time passes too quickly, the way it never did when she spent her days getting tutored by whatever trainer felt most indebted to her late father. Tortured, more like.  
Even still, she doesn’t show off much in training. The boy from One, Alex Drake, tries to befriend her and helps her with sword fighting, and she goes along with it because careers come in packs like wolves. Alex fancies himself a leader, and isn’t half bad, but Lauren knows he will turn on her. She had studied her father’s games, has studied every game there has ever been. Alliances in these games never end well.

For her private session, Lauren does something special. She controls the flames of a small campfire with such precision she brings the fire to her own body and does not burn. She thinks she heard one of the game makers scream when she came out unscathed. She smiles. She scores a seven.

Alex gets a ten.

To her surprise, Deker gets a two, but she isn’t really sure he’s actually trying.

-:-

In his interview, Alex reveals that he not only has a lookalike in the form of a boy named Wes Collins back home, but he is also in love with his mentor Jen Scotts.  
Mia is with her again, not caring about her own tributes. Lauren supposes that should worry her, but right now all she cares about is that Mia is stroking her arm.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Mia assures her. “Nadira is...quite the character.”

“Mentor Ji told me that I had about as much charm as a fish about to be pounced on by a cat.” Lauren says. “So. Yeah. I should be fine, as long as there are no cats in the Capitol.”

“Oh, there’s loads,” Mia says. “But I’m not one of them. Just imagine you’re talking to me, okay?”

Surprisingly, Nadira does not ask her about her father.

Nadira turns to the audience and pretends to weep. “I don’t like gruesome details. He was so young, so handsome. Just like his daughter, don’t you agree?”

The crowd cheers and Lauren has to restrain herself from punching Nadira in the face. Instead, she tries to smile. “My father was a great man. I hope to be better.”

The audience likes a bit of arrogance, it seems, judging by the applause that remark receives.

-:-

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Sixty-Fifth annual Hunger Games!” announces Cosmo Royale. The countdown begins.

The sun is in her eyes, making it hard to see. Lauren puts her hand to her forehead and tries to make out the arena, but all she sees is a vast desert. The outfit the game makers gave her is already clinging to her skin with sweat because the sick bastards made it long-sleeved and black. She predicts a lot of them will die of thirst.

They may know how to be hungry, but few possess the knowledge of thirst. Ji hadn’t let her eat or drink anything for three days when she helped Jayden escape to the woods with Mike, so she supposes that will give her an advantage.

Nine seconds to go, and Deker is clenching his fists.

The desert sand burns her feet, but she doesn’t scream.

-:-

Her games last four days, and all Lauren seems to remember is the moment they set the arena on fire and she drew her strange dead letter and still did not burn. Most of the other tributes died of heatstroke within the first twenty-four hours. When Alex was killed by a mutt, it was only she and Deker left.

Lauren can still taste the ash in her lungs, can hear the sound of Deker’s spine splitting when she ripped his back open with her sword when he turned away. He had smiled as he died, proclaiming her was free.

Lauren wishes she could feel the same.

As the crown is placed on her head, Lauren thinks she can hear Mia cheering. That sound alone is almost worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> idk how i feel about this but ehh i wrote it anyway. Real Life Sucks i promise i’ll write something different soon.


End file.
